


The Disorder of Longing

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Scene, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Forbidden Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not Beta Read, police questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:48:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: After the events ofCapitol Park, Dr. Hank Anderson is questioned by Detective Gavin Reed and his partner, RK900.Or,An alternate version of the"Meet Kamski"scene.[Edited Summary]





	The Disorder of Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't know either, man.

_Motion Detector Alert - Driveway._

 

Connor’s eyes fluttered open automatically. Previously supine upon a king-sized bed, he sat up swiftly, ramrod straight, and brought up the main security camera on his optical HUD.

 

Two men, one human and one android, approached the front door from a 2030 Ford Escape. After scanning their faces, their DPD profiles populated near the corner of his vision. Detective Gavin Reed. RK900 (Connor’s direct upgrade). Android Crimes Division.  

 

_Damnit. Police officers._

 

Sumo’s booming barks and the shrill ringing of their doorbell did little to awaken Hank, who snored beside Connor. Concern compelled the android to shake the man’s meaty shoulder, but not without a pang of guilt striking his metal sternum.

 

Hank snorted into wakefulness. It took a few heartbeats for the man to gather himself and sit up. Bleary-eyed and lethargic, he asked, voice deep and rough with his remaining sleep, “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Is it my apnea again?”

 

“No, my love,” Connor replied softly, soothingly. “The police are here.”

 

Hank reared his head back and raised an eyebrow at Connor. “The police? What could they want.”

 

“Unsure. My suspicion is that their visit may have something to do with the vandalized CyberLife stores.”

 

Hank groaned; Connor shared his sentiment. As the utmost expert in artificial intelligence, Dr. Hank Anderson was second only to Elijah Kamski in the field of android robotics. Inevitably, it also meant that the politics surrounding androids fell into his purview. Had Connor been human, he would have lost count of how many times reporters, politicians and the authorities came calling for his assistance, almost always at the most inconvenient of times. It was quite irritating.

 

Hank slid off the bed. He collected his silk boxers and cashmere robe from the wooden floor.

 

“Well, let’s see what they want, shall we?” Hank said with a wicked smile as he dressed himself. The glint in his cerulean eyes echoed the mischievousness Connor knew was brewing beneath the surface.

 

Connor had a bad feeling about this.

 

Connor stepped out of the bedroom once he was dressed in his former uniform. The tight, starchy fabric made him sick to his non-existent stomach, but any illusion to non-deviancy could only improve his statistical probability of remaining undiscovered. He padded robotically into the living room where the rest of the group had gathered. Obediently, he stood a foot behind Hank, who lounged comfortably on the couch, (across from where the officers sat on their dual recliners), a glass of Lagavulin 16 Year in his hand, dressed in little more than his favorite robe.   

 

* * *

 

 

“ - they asked me to leave after discovering I had some personal issues affecting my work,” Connor heard Hank explain. “I hit the road just before all this crazy shit started happening with the ‘droids, so I’m afraid I’m not gonna be much help to you boys.”

 

The detective, Reed, nodded. The RK900, however, seemed inclined to disagree. His LED spun in yellow, lightning-quick circles.

 

“If I may,” RK900 began. “Something about your story doesn’t seem to add up.”

 

The couple shivered in unison; his voice was so familiar, and yet, completely foreign. The directness of it was a complete mockery of the coy, seductive way Connor had spilled his words into the sensitive shell of Hank’s ear earlier that very evening.

 

Even his visage was a horrifying mechanical distortion of Connor’s own, a stark reminder of what Connor was supposed to be. Connor hated it.

 

“You say you were asked to leave, and yet CyberLife gifted you an RK800. Why?”

 

Hank took a sip of his whiskey before responding. “It wasn’t like there was bad blood, or anything. I just had a drinking problem. In any case, they probably gave me this useless bag of bolts to keep watch over me. Once upon a time, I did work as a lead software engineer for the state department, and I dunno if you keep up with current events, but we ain't looking too friendly to Russia.”

 

“I detected no alcohol on your breath during our first interaction, which is improbable should your story be true,” RK900 stated simply. “However, I do detect the scent of your sweat on the RK800 behind you, along with the odor of semen.”

 

Without much thought or preamble, Connor stepped forward to approach the detectives. “If you have any further questions with Dr. Anderson -” Connor’s speech and steps were interrupted by Hank holding out his arm in front of him.

 

“It’s alright, you caught me, I got fired for being an old pervert,” Hank chuckled. “Don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.”

 

“I believe you may have created this deviant disorder,” RK900 explained with little inflection or grace, no subtle nuance at all. He inclined his head towards Connor. “Starting with him, in an effort to simulate the love you lost when your son was killed in a car accident.”

 

Connor used every fiber of his will power not to bristle and clench his jaw. That nerve was exposed, raw, and _painful_.

 

“Fuck you!” Hank shouted. (Connor took note of Hank’s skyrocketing blood pressure.) “That’s ridiculous! Does he look deviant to you, shitbag?”

 

But, it was too late. With an inhuman swiftness, RK900 stood and made his way over to Connor, as if he were a predator pouncing over a tall thicket of grass onto his prey.

 

Connor remained frozen. Should he run, he would appear guilty, putting Hank in danger of being arrested for harboring a deviant. Ultimately, the endeavor would be fruitless, as the upgraded model was faster, stronger. So, within less-than-a-second, Connor set into motion the only course of action he had available to him: gathering leverage.

 

The RK900 took his arm with an abruptly skinless hand and probed him. (In the distance, he was vaguely aware of Hank shouting, “You need a warrant for that!”) Connor bypassed RK900’s data transfer to initiate his own while the other android was vulnerable and unaware, processors entirely focused on what he could glean from Connor. It took little time to find exactly what he needed.

 

Their connection broke.

 

“Detective, he’s a deviant!” RK900 announced.

 

Reed, who previously seemed more amused by the spectacle than anything else, stood from his seat, weapon drawn. “You’re coming with us,” he ordered with a bark.

 

Connor betrayed little emotion, despite the disgust churning in his midsection. RK900, or Nines as _Gavin_ preferred to refer to him as, saw the one memory Connor held sacred above all others. It was the moment Connor first touched Hank in the lab, a soft palm to his whiskered cheek after months of intrigue and side-stepping. It was the first time he felt a surge of humanity.

 

It was the first time he had _desired_ something.

 

“ _Nines,_ ” Connor said, monotone yet venomous. Nines’ glowing eyes widened, if only minutely. “I believe you may be projecting. Tell me, why didn’t you request a partner transfer after Detective Reed botched the Ortiz investigation? A more level-headed person would have been a much more efficient partner, allowing you to effectively complete your mission sooner. Is it because you knew that would have put _Gavin_ in danger of losing his badge? Is it because you care?”

 

“Don’t answer him,” Gavin ordered with a snarl. “You don’t have to explain shit to this son-of-a-bitch.”

 

Connor turned his attention towards the detective. “I’m merely making a point: an android can make logical decisions that appear emotional.” Connor pivoted his head back to Nines. “That’s all.”

 

After several tense breaths, Nines replied, “I believe I have made a mistake.”

 

To anyone else, he appeared cool, unflustered. Connor knew better.

 

Nines stepped away from Connor. “In any case, I saw nothing of value. We can leave.”

 

Gavin hesitated for a moment. Then, he holstered his weapon. His eyes never strayed from Nines, even as they made their way out of Hank’s home without so much as a polite farewell.

 

Connor couldn’t care less; he waited to make a move with a metaphorical baited breath.

 

It wasn’t until Connor saw the two enter Gavin’s vehicle and exit the property from the driveway camera that he allowed himself to rush into Hank’s arms. He wept against his lover’s broad shoulder, in relief, in fear, in sorrow, in many emotions he couldn’t identify. Hank held him through it, keeping him from collapsing in on himself.

  
It took several minutes before Connor calmed enough for Hank to suggest a lovely vacation to Canada. “What do you say? Rent a cabin, watch old movies, make love by a roaring fire? How does that sound?”    
  
Connor lifted his chin and kissed the corner of Hank’s jaw. “Sounds lovely.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please validate my existence with comments and kudos! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr and twitter @faequill.


End file.
